Let It In
by Firebirdie
Summary: With Jaesa's coaching, Evren attempts to use the light side. It does not go well.


**A/N:** In SW canon there are plenty of depictions of Jedi experimenting with or straight-up falling to the dark side. Not a whole lot of Sith trying to go the other way. And nobody ever tries out the other side in good faith, under controlled circumstances, of their own volition.

. . . I could have taken this in a much sunnier direction but whoops, Evren has Issues, news at 11. :')

 **Let It In**

 **o.O.o**

"Focus on your breathing. In . . . and out. Let your mind wander. Let your feelings fill you up, and then let them flow away. Always return to your breath."

It's not all that different from Sith meditation, not really, save for the last bit. Evren huffs out an almost-laugh—analysis will have to wait—and steadies his breath again. And again. And again. It's . . . frustrating, automatically reaching for _hatepainfear_ and, instead of gathering it in to hoard it like fuel, having to consciously decide to _let go._

He can feel power draining away with every breath. Instinct screams to reach out and _take it take it take it before something terrible happens_ —but he can't, he's not—

He wants to, has to, learn this. It's just another way to use the Force. The dark side is still there if he needs it. He's fine. He has to be fine.

He still can't do it.

The frustration builds at the back of his mind like debris blocking a river's course. He shakes his head fiercely, resettles. Exhales to the bottom of his lungs. Tries again.

"Good," Jaesa's saying, her voice steady, her presence cool and bright in his awareness. "Many initiates have difficulty persevering when confronted with initial failure. It becomes a self-perpetuating cycle. Just keep breathing, and start over. You'll get it eventually."

He's not sure how long he sits there, unable to match Jaesa's serenity. Hours, if the stiffness in his limbs is any indication. In the end she calls a halt to the lesson, stands, and offers him a hand up. "You're quite spry after so long spent still," he says, taking it.

"I've had a lot of practice. And I cheat," Jaesa says as she pulls him upright. "The Force does wonders for stiff muscles—it's a very minor healing ability, but it's useful."

"Interesting." Evren considers whether or not it's adaptable for dark side use, and decides against making an attempt for now. The healing arts are not his strong suit. And they're horrifically dangerous to the untrained. He cracks his neck and sighs. "I apologize for failing to—"

"No, no, that was an excellent start. Newcomers to the Jedi never get it right on their first try, and you're . . ." She trails off and waves a hand. "In any case, it takes a great deal of practice, so if you're serious about learning, we should do this again tomorrow."

 **o.O.o**

It takes two more days before anything happens. And though it's only a brief glimpse of the Light, it's _too much_. Pure animal panic overwhelms the fragile connection, snaps it, leaves him shaking and hollow.

Evren gasps in a breath. His heart is pounding in his chest like a bird throwing itself against the bars of its cage, but when he reaches for it, the Force—the dark side—burns through him on command. Black heat beneath his lungs, behind his eyes.

Jaesa is looking at him, shock and concern tangling around her. "What happened? You had it for a moment, and then . . ."

Evren rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling. "I don't think I can do this," he rasps.

"Are you all right?" says Jaesa.

". . . Is that how you feel, all the time?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Jaesa says slowly.

And he doesn't know how to put it into words. Too still too bright—nowhere to hide, shivering and small and helpless and ceding control to _something else_ and all he can do is trust that it will not let him fall—a suffocatingly impersonal gentleness that isn't _his_ —

"Neither am I," he says.

"The Light is just . . . calm. It's everywhere, pooling and flowing through every living thing. When my mind is quiet I can hear it, feel it. And then I let it in," says Jaesa.

Did he make a mistake? Was that truly the Light he felt, or was it an echo of his own weakness? He knows he should try again, and again, and again, practice until he collapses if necessary—Jedi _children_ are capable of doing this, so what excuse has he?

And yet before the thought has even finished forming, another wave of sick panic stops him cold. He can't. He _can't_ —

"I'm so sorry," he says miserably, the only words in him that make sense anymore. He wants to slink away to hide in a corner, or scream himself voiceless, or curl inwards until he disappears entirely. Jaesa deserves a better student, one who is not a coward, and a failure, and a fool.

Evren takes a step back, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and then he flees.

 **o.O.o**

 _end_


End file.
